


Aching Spaces

by 13Kat13



Series: YOI Spookfest 2018 [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Spooky, Supernatural Elements, character death but not really, halloween fic, i love suffering, i promise it's okay in the end, someone give victor a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-27 03:12:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16210205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13Kat13/pseuds/13Kat13
Summary: It happened sometimes. They’d be somewhere… odd. Liminal spaces. Highway rest stops with no other cars; rooms in galleries that were briefly empty; anywhere covered in fresh snowfall at night, they all seemed to call out to Victor.[Victor Nikiforov has a gift. Or maybe it's a curse. Either way it leads him to Yuuri.]





	Aching Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I'm sorry. A big chunk of this is kinda mournful, but then it gets better so just hang in their folks and trust me. The rest of my fics are either fantasy or humour based so this is fun.
> 
> Happy Halloween everyone :)

For the longest time, Victor’s been able to hear them.

When he was a child, his mother awoke in the middle of the night feeling uneasy. When she went to check on him in his room, she found his bed empty. Panicked and calling for her son, she tore through their little rundown flat only to find the four year old Victor in the stairwell of their apartment building.

The boy was laughing, and when he turned and saw her standing there, he smiled and said _“can you hear them, Mama?”_

Vasilisa Nikiforva had been terrified. But on some level not entirely surprised. It happened sometimes. They’d be somewhere… odd. Liminal spaces. Highway rest stops with no other cars; rooms in galleries that were briefly empty; anywhere covered in fresh snowfall at night, they all seemed to call out to Victor.

Her son would go quiet, his head cocked as though listening to something. Sometimes he’d giggle, babble nonsense in reply. Vasilisa told herself that it was just what babies and toddlers do. They talk to themselves in their nonsense words. But her grandmother had been ninety when she’d died. And she still spoke of voices.

Perhaps Victor’s oddness was why Vasilisa could never really care for her son. She loved him in a slightly fearful way. Protective, but absent, as though she was scared to get too close.

As a child Victor strove to please her. Trying to be smarter, kinder, better. He learned that he loved ice skating, that he was _good_ at it. And he thought he might be able to give her that. Be the best in the world so she’d have to love him.

But although she came to a few of his competitions at first, her hugs were still a little loose, her eyes a little distant. Victor had found a coach, Yakov Feltsman, who took Victor under his wing so well that a small part of the aching yearning in Victor’s chest to be loved seemed to be satisfied.

Eventually Yakov offered to have Victor move in with him, claimed it would help the child concentrate, take some of the financial pressure off Vasilisa, who was paying for childcare while she worked long hours at the hospital as a nurse. Vasilisa agreed a little too readily, and Victor tried not to feel as though he was falling apart.

Skating was his refuge then. No other family besides his now absent mother, and no friends at school, Victor threw himself at the ice like he wanted to break against it.

But some nights Yakov would still find his bedroom empty. Would stay up and ask Victor where he’d been when the boy came trudging home, gangly in his teenage years, too pale and bordering on too thin.

Victor would always shrug and say he’d just needed some air. But what thirteen year old needed air at one o’clock in the morning? And just where did he _really_ go?

The answer was of course, to the spaces where reality seemed thinnest.

Victor went back to those places that seemed to pull at him, answering their call like submitting to the undertow of a current.

Abandoned warehouses, empty dockyards, silent playgrounds. Mostly these places called at night. But sometimes it happened in the daytime too. He’d be down one of the corridors at the rink, and suddenly it would be quiet, not a soul to be heard. At least not to anyone else.

For Victor, that was when he heard the souls most.

And they _loved_ him. Whispered secrets in his ear though they could not show themselves beyond their voices, and sometimes a gentle touch. He’d felt the breath of one on his neck, felt the touch of another on his cheek, and just once, something like an embrace.

So Victor went to them. Listened to their stories. Gave them a place to pour out their suffering. He liked to think it helped, finally having an attentive listener to lament to, or a person on which they could pour out some of their affection.

Because some of them ached, but some of them loved. Lonely in their state between the living and the land of the dead, they saw a boy who was just as lonely, and the mothers who no longer had children, the children who no longer had playmates, and the men who no longer had brothers, all came to him.

Some of them scared him, but most just seemed mournful. So Victor stayed with them when he could, found friends in the dead when he had none among the living.

That’s why Victor was surprised when, as a young man, he finally had something like friends that were alive. At that age he was a skating legend, and the commentators poured out praise for his achingly beautiful pieces.

“So mournful,” they’d say, “so moving. Nikiforov really captures the emotion of the music.”

But they weren’t his emotions. Or that’s what Victor would tell himself. He was channeling _them_. The souls couldn’t express themselves to anyone but him, so he made his skating their altar, an ode to their loneliness.

Not his own. He refused to believe it was his own.

So these alive friends who weren’t so intimidated by Victor's success were a surprise indeed. There were the skaters who shared his home rink; Mila Babicheva, Georgi Popovich, and Yuri Plisetsky. And most importantly Chris.

Christophe Giocometti he’d call an actual friend. The others seemed to be more like what he imagined his relationship would be like with coworkers if he worked in an office. But Chris, a Swiss skater and an insatiable flirt, was someone Victor actually considered a friend. A pity then, that he lived in a different country.

Chris would call though. Check up on him. Once when Victor was tipsy he’d kissed Chris. But Chris, for all his flirting and overt sexual interest in Victor, had only pressed a hand to his chest.

“Oh no, cheri,” he’d said, sliding the hand up to cup Victor’s cheek. “You don’t really want me. You want company. Come find me when you’re not just lonely.”

And Victor had stepped back, slipped his mask back into place and laughed it off. Pretended he hadn’t noticed the little furrow Chris would get between his brows when he looked at Victor sometimes, how his calls “to say hi” usually felt more like he was checking Victor wasn’t about to do something stupid.

So Victor went back to those places in the off season. The churchyards and the empty shopping malls. Parking lots with no cars and rooftops in the early morning. They craved him. So Victor went to them.

It took Victor until the age of twenty-seven before he broke.

“I… I can’t, Yakov,” he said, closing his eyes as he stood in an airport, luggage around him and no idea where he was going but knowing he was about to miss the skating season that was just starting. “I just… can’t.”

“I know, Vitya,” Yakov sighed, and the diminutive broke the band that seemed to be pressing around Victor’s chest, allowed him to take a deep, painful breath in that made his eyes water on the exhale. “Just… take your time. Stay in touch. I expect to know where you are, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re being pressured to return. I knew this would happen eventually. This or… something I can’t think about, so… I’ll see you when you get back. You’re a good boy.”

Victor choked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. He hadn’t been a boy in years. But it was nice regardless.

Tokyo became his destination, for no other reason than it was the first flight with free seats on it that wasn’t going somewhere horrendous.

Victor paid an extortionate amount for the late booking and for the privilege of bringing his beloved pet poodle with him. Makkachin had been the closest thing to family besides Yakov in years. The dog was out cold in her carrier, drugged for the flight.

Victor opened the door to the carrier regardless, gave his sleeping dog a pet and told her he’d see her on the other side. Then he boarded the plane a short while later, took a couple of sleeping pills and woke up to find himself landing in Tokyo.

Tokyo was loud. Not because the people were, the Japanese were reserved even in the capital —  save for a few drunk revellers and some noisy market vendors — but in the unavoidable way that all big cities are.

Victor got a cab to the pet friendly hotel he’d found online, checked in and took a quick shower in his small but comfortable room, before he and Makkachin headed out again.

Tokyo was best at night. Lights drew Victor’s eyes like he was a moth, bright and neon and never ending, promising experiences or products that could make anyone happy. Victor let himself get swept up in the tide of people, watching where he was going only enough to ensure Makkachin didn’t get stepped on.

He bought gyoza off a street vendor, unable to help sharing a small piece with Makkachin, ever the sucker for her puppy eyes.

Then they were off again. Victor bought a bit more food, wandered a little further, until eventually he decided to go back to his hotel.

“Come on, Makka,” he said to his ever faithful poodle, who trotted along happily, stopping only occasionally to sniff at things.

Victor knew in the morning they’d leave again. While he liked the way Tokyo was loud enough to drown out some of the noise in his own head, he didn’t really think he was dealing with the root of the issue like Yakov had suggested he should. He had a feeling the city would chew him up and spit him back out, exhausted and distracted but no more whole than when he started.

Victor browsed the internet that night on his phone, looking for a place that might appeal. He liked the idea of staying in Japan, felt he hadn’t seen the best the country had to offer. He’d heard of beautiful rural areas, retreats built with the idea of being as close to nature as possible. Victor liked the sound of that. Thought nature would be good.

But the seaside town he found didn’t boast of one of these retreats after all. Instead it had a little hot springs.

Yu-topia Katsuki caught Victor’s eye as soon as it loaded on the screen. There was something about the onsen, a sort of homely familiarity, helped by the warm smiles of the owners that were displayed on the “About” page of the website.

Victor booked online and set his alarm for the morning, snuggling down in bed with the sounds of Tokyo keeping him company.

It was a long train ride to Hasetsu from Tokyo. Victor knew he could’ve flown, but wasn’t sure it was advisable to have Makkachin drugged so soon after the last flight at her age. So they took the long way, and it gave Victor a chance to see the countryside from the window of his sleeper compartment.

Hasetsu was beautiful in a slightly worn sort of way. But the fact that it wasn’t all new and shiny lent it a certain charm in Victor’s opinion. He took it in on his cab ride from the station, having communicated where he wanted to go in the clumsy Japanese he’d picked up from the app on his phone. It was still early morning, the little town awake but in a sleepy sort of way.

Victor tipped generously on their arrival, having no idea what was the customary amount for tipping in Japan, and helped the cabbie take his luggage from the boot.

Makkachin had been on her best behaviour in her carrier on the way here. But now, obviously sensing that she was soon to be free, she was fussing and whining to be let out.

“Okay, it’s okay, Makka,” Victor assured her, grabbing her collar to stop her escaping as he opened the carrier, only releasing it when she was secure on her leash.

“Mr Nikiforov?”

Victor looked up at the sound of his name, and saw a round faced, kind looking man smiling tentatively at him from the steps of the inn.

 _“Ah yes,”_ Victor replied in Japanese, straightening and taking his suitcase handle along with Makkachin’s leash. _“You are owner… here?”_

Victor frowned at his limited vocabulary, but the man only smiled as he nodded, coming forward to help Victor with his things.

 _“Yes, I am Katsuki Toshiya,”_ he explained, then switched. “English easier?”

“Yes,” Victor agreed, relieved.

Toshiya smiled at him, before cooing at Makkachin and gesturing for Victor to follow him inside, having taken Victor’s suitcase from him.

Victor adjusted the strap of his carry on and followed, taking in the rustic charm of the inn as they passed into the entrance hall.

They were greeted in the dining room by a round little woman who had the warm, welcoming air of the sort of person who was mother to all who needed one. Victor instantly liked her, even more so when she made a fuss of Makkachin and insisted Victor sit down and have something to eat straight away.

“Katsudon, that’s what I get,” Hiroko Katsuki said, bustling away to what Victor assumed was the kitchen. “All leg, no meat on you.”

Victor smiled and patted his lap as he crossed his legs. Makkachin ignored this invitation, content to sniff out every corner of the room as soon as she was free of her leash.

Victor kept an eye on her, but was otherwise unconcerned as the other guests seemed to like her just fine.

There weren’t many other guests, and Victor met the only other member of the Katsuki family fairly quickly.

Mari Katsuki had none of the warmth of her parents, but still seemed to have a sort of patient kindness about her. She scoffed at Victor for being a “pretty boy”, and offered him a cigarette when he headed out onto the porch to explore, her English a little better than her parents’.

“My coach would murder me,” Victor said, shaking his head with a smile.

“Coach?” Mari repeated, lighting her own cigarette as she leant against a pillar.

“I’m a figure skater,” Victor explained, looking around the little outdoor area curiously. The Katsukis had kept the garden traditional, no doubt out of personal taste as much as to please tourists.

“I thought you looked familiar,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him as she too a long drag on her cigarette.

Victor gave a slightly hollow smile, tilting his head back to close his eyes.

“You like figure skating?”

Mari shrugged.

“It's more my... well yes, you could say that.”

Hiroko called him back inside for his katsudon soon after, and he left Mari to her cigarette.

Over the next few days Victor explored Hasetsu with Makkachin in tow.

The place seemed to have a lot of liminal spaces. Perhaps it was the nature of being a small town; fewer people meant empty spaces that felt as though they should be crowded.

But these places didn’t depend entirely on being empty. No it was more than that. Places that should be full but weren’t were of course part of it; schools, hospitals and airports at night. But also places where you passed through but weren’t supposed to linger; stairwells, hallways, highways.

Of course the only place in Hasetsu that fitted this description was the streets at night. But it felt like the whole town was a tear in reality regardless. Somewhere where the veil was thin. As though the place had set up camp right over a crossroads between here and Elsewhere.

Rather than unsettle him, Victor felt oddly calmed by it.

And the odd thing was that even though Victor felt them so keenly in Hasetsu, the dead didn’t speak to him. He knew they were there like the feeling of someone’s fingers hovering an inch from your skin; palpable even though the touch isn’t truly there. Sometimes Victor felt as though they were holding their breath. Waiting.

But there was one presence that got closer. Victor felt him keenly, for he was sure it was a him, although he did not speak to Victor either.

Victor felt him at odd moments, in his moonlit room; when he sunk into the onsen in the evenings; sometimes when he stepped out into the morning air for his daily run.

Victor was curious. He felt oddly drawn to the presence, felt he was familiar somehow, like the grooves in the insoles of a pair of well worn shoes. Victor knew when he was there like knowing where the furniture in your home is even when all the lights are out.

And Victor would smile, and whisper “hello, pet,” because the presence needed a nickname like that. It felt right.

And Victor would _feel_ him smile back.

He’d first shown up on Victor’s fourth day in Hasetsu and visited for nine once in had begun. Mornings, evenings and some wee hours. Victor felt _his_ touch on his cheek when he’d paused on a walk along the beach, looking out at the ocean, rugged with the wind and a stormy grey colour. He felt something like the weight of a chest and arms settle on his shoulders as he sat cross legged in the dining room one evening. And once, very early in the morning, when Victor woke to moonlight spilling across his bed sheets, he blinked a few times to be greeted with the sweet pressure of a kiss on his lips.

Victor felt strangely calm about the whole thing. Another may have been freaked that someone dead had apparently taken such a liking to them. But Victor was charmed, felt like the presence was an answer to the terrible cry of loneliness that he’d sung for so long.

So the days passed, and the presence visited him, and Victor stayed in Hasetsu.

There was an ice rink in the town. Victor managed to avoid it for almost two weeks before he caved, answered the call of it and dragged his skates out of his suitcase, the only thing he’d left unpacked.

He donned a pair of leggings and a light workout jacket along with his trainers. He jogged to the Ice Castle with his skates in a bag on his back.

The Ice Castle was a little run down, but obviously well loved. Victor could see that when he stepped through the glass front doors, took in the patch jobs to the paintwork and the posters of children’s ice shows on the noticeboard.

A woman’s voice called out a greeting in Japanese from the front desk, and Victor caught a glimpse of a back, bent to do something under the desk. Then the woman straightened and caught sight of Victor, and the box of papers she’d rooted out promptly went tumbling to the floor.

 _“Oh my god,”_ is what Victor suspected she said in Japanese, her hands over her mouth as she ignored the papers in favour of staring wide-eyed at Victor.

“Err, _hello,”_ he offered in return, waving awkwardly. _“Um… I can skate?”_

The woman was pretty in a girlish kind of way, all wide eyes and delicate features. Brown hair pulled up into a ponytail and a white workout jacket paired with shorts and leggings.

 _“Oh! Yes!_ I mean, yes,” she said, switching to English as she nodded furiously. “Of course, we’d be honoured. Do you need skates? Of course you don’t need skates, get it together Yuuko.”

Victor laughed and smiled encouragingly at Yuuko, as the woman was evidently called. She still looked a little stunned but smiled back all the same.

“Don’t sweat it,” Victor assured her. “While I’m here I’m just a regular Ice Castle patron. No medals.”

“Pfft, sure,” she said, but the tension seemed to leak from her a little.

Yuuko gestured at the doors leading further into the building.

“Go ahead,” she said. “There’s no one on the ice. There’s a lot of times when the rink is free now that… ah, well, anyway, you can use it anytime. There’s a roster on the wall if you want to see when’s best to come without being mobbed by preteens.”

“Thanks,” Victor said, with a laugh, wondering what she’d been about to say as he nodded farewell and headed on through the doors she’d indicated.

The rink at Ice Castle Hasetsu was dimly lit, relying mainly on light from the tall windows. Victor assumed Yuuko had left the main lights off in the absence of skaters to save on electricity. He preferred it this way though, was used to this kind of eerie space with how frequently he was drawn to them. He laced up on the benches, content to leave his shoes there rather than bother with a locker when no one else was here.

But when Victor straightened up, he did hear the swish of blades on the ice. Frowning Victor squinted across what he thought had been a deserted rink.

A figure was making lazy circles at the other end of the rink. From the look of them they were male, though it was hard to tell in the dim twilight of the room.

Victor frowned, curious as to why he hadn’t seen the man before, but supposed the lighting in here was to blame. He made his way to the gate and stepped out onto the ice with the intention of greeting his fellow skater, before carrying on with his own solitary skate.

“Hello,” Victor tried, guessing that the other man may speak English.

The man turned and all the breath left Victor’s lungs.

Deep honey-black eyes blinked slowly in their regard of Victor across the ice. Raven hair and lips that looked as though they’d been kiss-bitten were slanted in a smirk. The man was paler than the other asian men Victor had encountered, but it didn’t look bad on him.

He was the most beautiful thing Victor had ever seen, and suddenly Victor ached for him so badly that he had to clutch his a hand to his chest, his mouth falling open in surprise.

The man’s smirk only grew as Victor stood gazing at him, stunned. The man skated towards him slowly, long easy strokes that made his hips sway tantalisingly.

The man reached Victor, and skated a wide, lazy circle around him. He was… oddly familiar.

“Hello, Victor,” the man said, and oh, Victor’s name on that tongue. _That_ was how his name was supposed to be said, everyone else had been getting it woefully wrong. But also no one else had the right to say it like this man did.

“Do I… know you?” Victor asked, twisting his head to watch as the man finished his circle around Victor and came to a stop in front of him. But Victor thought he must. The man was just so familiar.

“Of course you do…” the man said, and raised one devastating brow at Victor, tilted his head back slightly to regard him with a smirk.

It dawned on Victor all at once.

“Oh…” he breathed, and the man grinned.

“There it is,” he said, skating a little closer.

Victor found himself grinning back.

“Hello, pet,” he said, voice immeasurably fond as he reached out a hand, wondering if he could possibly be allowed to touch.

“Hello,” the presence that had haunted Victor for nine days replied, his nose scrunching up adorably as he smiled.

“It’s you…” Victor said, awe in his voice as the man’s hand came to meet his. “But I thought you were…”

“Oh I am,” the man assured him, but that couldn’t be right. Victor could touch him, see him. How could a mere ghost have a hand that held Victor’s solid and secure and oh so perfect?

“But how…?” Victor went to ask, confusion furrowing his brow.

“Well you see I wasn’t entirely human when I was alive,” the man said, drawing closer still. “Do you know why you recognise the look of me, not just the _feel_ of me?”

Victor frowned, taking in the man’s achingly beautiful face, wondering if he’d ever seen it before. Then it clicked.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he said, the name and the face and the oh so tragic mysterious disappearance of such a promising talent.

It had shook the skating world, to have such a young and gifted skater such as Yuuri disappear.

There’d been a car accident. Typical. Unfair in the hopeless randomness of it. Yuuri’s car twisted around a tree. But while there’d been blood at the scene, a body had never been found. The police had at first suspected that Yuuri had been taken against his will. But when no ransom note was delivered and Yuuri continued to not appear, the police changed their theory to amnesia, a possible head injury that had lead to Yuuri wandering off, getting lost and not knowing who or where he was.

After the months passed and no sign of Yuuri appeared despite the posters and frequent calls for him to return home, the world just sort of… moved on. Reporters had said they’d lost a true talent, an athlete they were only just suspecting was blossoming, had still to reach the peak of his ability.

Yuuri’s coach had spoken about Yuuri’s confidence, how they were building it up, that it was the only thing that stood in the way of him and breaking world records. He urged the world to keep looking, encouraged Yuuri to reach out and assured him that they were all missing him and awaiting his return eagerly.

Phichit Chulanont had sobbed in an interview, had to excuse himself and tweeted about how sorry he was to lose his best friend, how deeply he felt for the Katsukis. He too encouraged the world not to forget Yuuri Katsuki, tweeted about him daily, circulating his picture, making sure he wasn’t forgotten.

Even Chris had known him. Victor had made a tweet himself even, wanted to show that even though he hadn’t known Yuuri, any loss to the skating world was felt by them all.

He’d felt a little numb when he’d done it. Wondered if it made him a fake. Because although he thought the ordeal sad, he couldn’t really be upset over someone he didn’t know. Yakov had said it showed good grace though.

But Yuuri was _here,_ telling Victor he was in fact, dead after all, not just missing, but looking and feeling oh so very alive.

“I don’t… understand,” Victor said weakly, and Yuuri smiled patiently, took pity on him.

He drew closer, reached up and cupped a hand to Victor’s cheek. Victor’s eyes fell shut as the touch _hurt_ with how much tenderness it held. His chest felt like it was going to cave in, and oh god, _Yuuri._

“Like I said,” Yuuri replied, voice ever so soft, “I wasn’t entirely human when I was alive. And nor are you.”

Victor opened his eyes, found the dark ones gazing up into his, patient and kind and so very loving. Victor wanted them to see right down into the depths of him. Take him apart and put him back together again as something that belonged only to Yuuri. It scared him how deeply he felt when he didn’t even know this man.

“We were meant to be together you see,” Yuuri explained. “You and I. But then I died before we had the chance to properly meet, and you stayed lonely whilst I stayed… somewhere in between here and There. My body wasn’t found because it sort of… came with me. To this place in between.”

“How can you know what didn’t happen?” Victor whispered, and his voice was hoarse, pain folded into the lines of his face.

“The dead know many things,” Yuuri shrugged. “See what is, and what is to come, as well as things that could've happened if reality was tweaked a little. You know that, Vitya.”

The name made Victor hiccup a sob. This man was supposed to be his, to call him his Vitya. Yuuri gave him a sad smile, as though he understood just how Victor was feeling.

“So when I passed away,” Yuuri went on, his hand sliding from Victor’s cheek to rest on his chest, “I stuck around, as many do. And because I’m not entirely human and neither are you, you can see me... and touch me.”

“But…” Victor began, suddenly desperate to know what he was about to ask, “does that mean you can stay? Here? With me?”

Yuuri gave him another sad smile, and Victor knew, had to close his eyes again against the pain.

But —

“If you can find your way to me,” Yuuri whispered.

Victor sucked in a sharp breath, and opened his eyes, only to see Yuuri tilting forward. Victor closed his eyes, and the kiss he was expecting came light, more breath than lips but no less wonderful.

“Come find me, Vitya,” Yuuri whispered against his lips, and then the warmth of his mouth was gone, as was the weight of his hand in Victor’s, the other one vanished from Victor’s chest.

Victor opened his eyes to an empty rink, and the sob that tore itself from him was like glass being dragged up his throat.

He swayed for a moment, wondering if his knees were going to give out.

Because no he didn’t know Yuuri, but oh yes he did. He _knew_ him. Like calls to like and the future that his soul knew they had, the moments that had already been stolen from them, were etched into his heart.

Victor doubled over, clutching his stomach which felt as though there was a gaping hole in it.

He took a few sharp, ragged breaths. Squeezed his eyes shut. Then straightened.

“I’m coming for you, Yuuri,” he promised to the empty rink.

And he thought he felt someone smiling in response.

 

* * *

 

The way back to Yuuri wasn’t clear, but Victor was sure it had to do with the great, yawning cavern he seemed to be harbouring in his chest. If he could find a way to ease that, to enjoy and live for… something, Victor thought he might just be closer to having Yuuri back.

The thing was, he’d been living with the gap in his chest for so long Victor wasn’t sure how to go about fixing it.

He started with the Katsukis.

Victor had known of course, that they’d lost _someone,_ he just hadn’t wanted to pry and ask who. As the dead called to him so did the living who had known and loved them. So yes, Victor knew the Katsukis had lost someone. Just not that it had been _his_ someone.

Hiroko Katsuki took to Victor like a mother desperate to love a son who wasn’t there. She’d been friendly at first of course, loving and easy and achingly maternal. But Victor had felt her pain regardless, seen the sadness in her eyes.

She welcomed his presence. Allowed him to help with the cooking the longer he stayed, taught him how to make katsudon and let him help fold the towels and do the dishes.

Mari was pleased for the help, but undoubtedly suspicious.

“Why do you want to do it?” she asked as they scrubbed the onsen together. “You’re a guest so you’re hardly obliged.”

“I don’t mind,” Victor said, smiling down at his slightly pink fingers where they held the scrubbing brush. “And I don’t like being idle.”

Toshiya Katsuki welcomed a drinking buddy, and he and Victor chatted happily as they watched football together, cheered when Toshiya’s team scored.

This went on for a month, Victor meeting Yuuko’s husband and their triplets in the process, along with Minako, who had apparently been Yuuri’s ballet instructor and godmother.

But none of it seemed to make any difference. Yuuri’s presence still lingered, so close sometimes that Victor had to look around to see if Yuuri had manifested into physical form. But Yuuri didn’t, and even though Victor went back to the rink often and at all times of day, it remained stubbornly empty or else occupied only with the living.

So even though he felt a little happier, a little something like loved by what may have been people he could call family some day, the one he truly wanted to see remained elusive to him.

 

* * *

 

Victor kept Yakov and Chris up to date with how he was doing. They seemed pleased that he was doing well, though neither were entirely convinced everything was completely okay. After all Victor had met the love of his life only to discover he was already dead.

After a few weeks Yuri Plisetsky turned up, ranting about how Victor owed him a programme like the Agape one he’d given him last season — Victor not having the heart to skate unconditional love himself — and something about how he wasn’t leaving Japan without Victor in tow.

The Katsukis adored Yuri, despite him being a little like a bad tempered cat that would scratch if petted. The teen softened under their influence, perhaps finding the parental figures in Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki much like Victor had.

The family took to calling him Yurio, and Victor didn’t have to wonder why. It was probably too painful to say Yuuri’s name aloud.

Surprisingly Yuri didn’t kick up too much of a fuss about it, which must’ve meant he knew about their son.

After a few weeks, despite his claim that he wouldn’t leave without Victor, Yuri had to fly back to Russia as it was the middle of the skating season. At least Yuri had gotten the beginnings of a new programme choreographed for next season. Victor hoped it would serve him well.

Victor hugged him goodbye at the airport despite the squawk and scratching it caused, and even felt Yuri relax into the hug for a moment before he tore himself away.

After that things went back to how they had been. Victor helped around the onsen, went for runs in the morning and skated at the rink when no one else was there. He spent time with Makkachin, soaked in the onsen, ate his meals with the Katsukis and occasionally Minako and the Nishigori family.

But Yuuri still didn’t appear to him beyond a few light touches, sensed at odd hours when the veil seemed thinnest.

Victor felt raw, bleeding and cracked. He needed Yuuri to put him back together again. But Yuuri was dead, and Victor couldn’t seem to make him come back.

 

* * *

 

It took Victor a long time to make the call he knew he had to. He waited until he could feel Yuuri with him one night, his presence like an embrace.

Victor closed his eyes, tilted his head back as he felt Yuuri’s touch dance over the bared skin of his collarbone, skim up his throat.

“Yuuri…”

The presence smiled and Victor smiled back, opened his eyes half believing that Yuuri would be there in the room with him, physical and solid to the touch.

But the room was empty, and Victor wasn’t really surprised.

He picked up his phone.

The line rang with an international dial tone, before it clicked and a woman’s voice answered.

_“Hello?”_

Victor had to take a sharp breath as that voice bought a hundred painful and wonderful memories back. After a moment’s hesitation he answered.

_“Hello, Mama.”_

There was a moment’s pause, pregnant with surprise and something else, before Vasilisa Nikiforova’s voice returned, falsely cheerful.

 _“Vitka,”_ his mother laughed. _“Imagine you finding time to call your mother. How’s the skating?”_

 _“Oh I’m not skating this season,”_ Victor explained, his head tilted down so his fringe concealed part of his face. _“I took a break. Thought it would be good for my joints to give them a rest.”_

 _“Is that right?”_ his mother’s voice sounded slightly distracted, as though she was more interested in whatever she was doing than the once yearly phone call she received from her son, though it usually came on her birthday.

Victor had to close his eyes again.

 _“Yes,”_ he replied, and was almost ashamed by how much he wished someone was there to hold his hand for this.

_“Oh well you’ll have to let me know what you decide to do next if you’re not going to return to skating… what’re you on, your third world championship?”_

_“Sixth,”_ Victor replied dully.

 _“Such a talented boy,”_ she said. _“Well I won’t keep you, I’m sure such a busy celebrity athlete such as yourself has got things to be getting on with.”_

 _“Sure,”_ Victor agreed, and tried to force a smile into his voice. _“Was nice catching up, Mama.”_

 _“It was indeed, we’ll speak soon,”_ Vasilisa said, knowing that they wouldn’t.

 _“Of course,”_ Victor agreed. _“Bye, Mama.”_

_“Bye, Vitka.”_

Then the line went dead.

Victor let his hand with the phone in fall limply into his lap, his breathing coming in shuddery gasps.

He managed to pull himself together after a few moments, then looked up, hoping, praying.

The room was empty.

His cry of frustration was tinged with all the pain and bitterness Victor felt, and he threw his phone against the wall, where made a satisfying crack and then fell to the floor.

Victor tore himself up from the bed, grabbing his running gear and changing into it with jerky movements. He could feel Yuuri, distressed and asking him to stay though he didn’t say it aloud.

But Victor couldn’t. This had been his last ditch attempt at getting Yuuri back. Calling his mother, who was in large part responsible for how broken he was. It’s not like he _wanted_ this pain.

Victor fled the room the moment his trainers were tied. He sprinted out of the inn and thundered towards the beach, feet slapping the pavement as he flat out sprinted.

His breathing came harsh and ragged, hinted with the taste of copper the more he pushed himself. He ran until he couldn’t anymore, which as he was a professional athlete was pretty far.

Victor came to a stop on an unfamiliar stretch of beach, the breaths tearing themselves from his throat as he doubled over with his hands on his knees.

The ringing in his head gradually dulled to a sort of white noise, and the numbness settled over him again. He straightened, looking out over the ocean, the sound of the gulls and the wind the only noise.

He was alone here. There were no dead to keep him company. After a few moments he turned and headed back towards the inn.

Yuuri was not there when he arrived.

 

* * *

 

One evening Hiroko found him in the dining room. Victor was exhausted. He found if he tired himself out enough during the day his thoughts weren’t so loud come night. It sort of worked.

He was staring blankly at the wall when Hiroko placed a hand on his shoulder. Victor startled and looked up at her. She smiled patiently down at him, obviously having called his name a few times.

“I’d like to show you something,” she said, and Victor nodded and rose to his feet.

“My son,” Hiroko said as she lead him to the family quarters, making Victor’s breath catch painfully. “He’s also skater.”

She lead him down the hall, Victor suddenly very much not wanting to see whatever she had to show him. He felt as though he was falling apart the further they went, parts of him cracking off as they drew towards a door at the end of the corridor the Katsuki family slept on.

Hiroko glanced back at him and smiled, expression a little sad but seeming to understand. How she could possibly have known Victor was sad over Yuuri, was supposed to be with him in another reality, he had no idea. But she seemed to all the same.

Hiroko opened the door and Victor had to steel himself to follow her inside. What he saw made him gasp.

His own face gazed back at him from the walls. Many versions of him, at all ages since he started his skating career.

“This is Yuuri’s room,” Hiroko said, voice respectfully hushed as she shuffled inside and straightened one of the books on the desk. It looked like nothing else had been moved since Yuuri’s disappearance, the Katsukis just waiting for his return.

Victor’s whole body hurt.

“He’s a… what’s the word… likes you?” Hiroko said, looking back to Victor.

“A fan,” Victor whispered, the words seeming very hard to say.

“Yes, a fan,” Hiroko agreed, and looked pleased in a mournful kind of way. “Liked your skating. Tried to do the same way.”

Victor nodded, and closed his eyes for a moment. He worried if he stood in that room for too long that awful, howling pain inside him would catch alight, burn him apart until there was nothing left.

“You love him,” Hiroko said then, and Victor blinked his eyes open, saw her blurred outline through his tears.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“But you never met him,” she guessed, regarding Victor with those all knowing eyes of a mother.

“No.”

There was a moment’s silence as Hiroko regarded him. Victor was terrified she’d ask why. How he could have known her son enough to love him if they’d never met. And Victor would have to tell her. _Your son’s dead. I feel him around me sometimes here. I saw him at the rink once and he spoke to me._

She probably would’ve slapped him. Called him crazy and chucked him out of her house.

But none of that happened. Instead Hiroko only nodded after a long moment, and went to the door.

“I leave you for a moment,” she explained, and slid the door closed.

Victor sunk onto Yuuri’s bed. And sobbed.

 

* * *

 

Eventually it came time for Victor to leave Hasetsu. His eyes were wet as he hugged Hiroko goodbye, Toshiya patting him on the back as Mari looked on with something a little like sadness in her eyes.

“Thank you,” Victor whispered to Hiroko, squeezing the little woman close for a moment.

“There’s nothing to thank us for, Vicchan,” Hiroko returned, using the nickname that she’d dubbed him with fairly quickly after his arrival. “You deserve to be loved.”

Victor had to step away then, otherwise he’d start crying for real.

He bid them all one last goodbye and he and Makkachin stepped back out into the cold air of winter. Alone again.

 

* * *

 

Well, not entirely alone. See, Yuuri followed him back to Russia.

He wasn’t as palpable there, it was true. Hasetsu had after all, been a hot spot for the dead to press themselves against the living, enough that Victor knew even the locals who didn’t have the gift could feel _something._

But Yuuri _was_ there in Saint Petersburg. In the dark, when Victor woke purposefully to be with him. And when there was no one else at the rink, and in the playground at the end of Victor’s street when the moon was high.

Yuuri’s presence calmed Victor. He let Yuuri’s hands smooth over his cheeks, felt how much his presence ached to be able to touch Victor for real. Some days Victor felt sick with how much he wanted to see him.

 

* * *

 

Victor did not return to skating. He made the official announcement that his break would be permanent, and that he planned to do some choreography, ice shows and commentating when he fancied it.

The press went mad. He found it hard to leave his apartment block without being mobbed by reporters, eager for a comment, to get the reason he’d quit when he was still winning golds, showed no sign of slowing and hadn’t had a major injury.

Victor waved them all off, laughed and said something about wanting to finish on top, give the next generation a shot at the podium. He directed them all towards Yuri Plisetsky, who had taken his world record but not the gold medal in the season before the current one. Victor assured them all Yuri was the one to watch.

Although it wasn’t as easy as when he was in Hasetsu, Victor felt like he could breathe a little easier without the question of what he was going to do next season, the constant need to surprise, be the best, be perfect.

Chris visited him despite it being the middle of the season when he announced his retirement. He bought far too much luggage for the few days he was planning to stay and piled it all into Victor’s spare room.

When Victor went to the airport to collect him, Chris took one look at him and looked as though he wanted to ask why Victor looked as though someone had died. Of course Victor couldn’t explain that someone _had._

Chris helped a little. He was loud and funny and outrageous, the two of them drank wine, messed about at the rink, and watched shitty soap operas together. It was good, made Victor feel a little less alone. But not completely. And Yuuri still didn’t appear to him.

“You look…” Chris said one evening, then trailed off, frowning at Victor.

“Yes?” Victor asked, wine glass in hand as they shared a bottle with the take out they’d just finished while sat on Victor’s couch.

“I’m no longer worried you’re going to do something… awful,” Chris said delicately, pursing his lips as he swirled his wine.

“Thanks,” Victor snorted, reaching over to nab the last piece of prawn toast.

“But really,” Chris said, fixing Victor with an intense look. “You still look so very sad. It’s just in a new way now. Before it was like… listless depression. Now it’s like you’ve… I dunno… like you’re grieving.”

That hit a little too close to home. Victor _was_ grieving, in an odd sort of way as he hoped he could still get Yuuri back. He just shrugged.

“Maybe I’m grieving my career,” he said, winking at Chris with a smirk.

“No…” Chris said, considering Victor with a distant look on his face, as though he was seeing beyond him. “That’s not it.”

Chris left after a few days, not able to stay too long during the season. He returned to a happy home with his boyfriend. Chris had called Victor when he and Matthieu had become official a year ago, so they could mourn his long single life and toast to monogamy. Victor had laughed and congratulated his friend, all the while feeling so achingly lonely he could’ve screamed.

His flat was very empty after Chris left. Other than Yuuri, who pressed a kiss to Victor’s lips the night after Chris left.

Victor ached.

 

* * *

 

Victor was skating. He still did of course. He doubted he’d ever give it up entirely, would have to be pushed around the ice on a wheelchair when he got old.

He was alone at the rink, only a few of the lights on so he swam in and out of darkness. He was feeling the music, something forming in the back of his mind. A programme. Far too challenging to be used for an ice show, but perhaps he could give it to Yuri.

But Victor sort of wanted to keep it for himself. It felt immensely personal.

He came to the middle of the ice and took up the opening pose, hips tilted in a slightly feminine way, before he span out into a swoon that was followed by broad, slow strokes across the ice. He geared up for a jump, launched it, landed a flawless quad salchow followed by a triple toe loop.

Victor grinned, finding he was enjoying this, as he hadn’t in far too long. This was for him, not anyone else, just him and the ice. No cameras, judges, press or fans. Just him and the cold bite of air, the ache in his thighs, the awareness that this was his body. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so aware of it.

And he threw himself into the routine. Heard the music he wanted for it clearly in his head, let each movement sing with it. And at one point he’d thought maybe another would join him halfway through this routine when it was still taking shape in his mind, but now he was doing it he found he didn’t _need_ another. Victor was fine just as himself. He was enough. Even without the fans and sponsors and everything else.

He was just him. Flawed. A little crazy. Competitive and petty and _kind._ He was a good man. Victor knew it then. He was a good man, and Hiroko Katsuki had been right.

He deserved to be loved.

There was a gasp from behind him, the sound of someone else in the rink. And Victor turned, knowing what he’d see.

And there he was.

Yuuri Katsuki was sprawled out across the ice, raising himself up slightly, face pinched with pain, a hand going to his head.

And oh god he was so beautiful and Victor was skating to him in a dead sprint, the sound of his skates making Yuuri look up, eyes wide.

Victor fell to his knees as he got close, skidding the rest of the way so he collided bodily with Yuuri. And he was _warm,_ solid, really here, more than an apparition. Victor was sobbing.

“V-Victor?”

Yuuri’s voice was a tad terrified. Victor pulled back, cupped his face in his hands, smoothed his thumbs over those precious cheeks, not quite so pale now.

Then he noticed how confused and startled Yuuri looked.

“You… Yuuri, do you remember… me?” he asked, feeling the pain tearing into him again.

Yuuri _had_ to remember. If he didn’t Victor would just make sure he fell in love with him in _this_ reality, would make sure it happened if it took the rest of his life.

“Of course I remember you,” Yuuri laughed, but it sounded a little hysterical. “You’re Victor Nikiforov.”

Victor’s heart broke a little.

“No, I mean…” Victor dropped his hands to Yuuri’s hands, took them in his own and clutched them to his chest. “Do you remember… us? What you said to me? What we could’ve been if you hadn’t…”

Something like slow understanding was dawning on Yuuri’s face. He freed one of his hands from Victor’s grasp, reached up and hesitated only for a moment before he placed it on Victor’s cheek, eyes wide as though he couldn’t believe he was really allowed to do this. Victor’s eyes fell closed, and the noise he made was a wounded sound.

“I…”

Victor opened his eyes at the sound of Yuuri’s voice, hesitant, unsure. Then Yuuri licked his lips, seemed to let the truth sink in.

“I think I might…” Yuuri whispered, voice reverent as his eyes roved over Victor’s face. “Yes… we were… oh god…”

Yuuri looked startled, as though he couldn’t quite remember everything but had a good idea what he and Victor could’ve been. He flushed a very pretty pink.

“Hi,” Victor laughed, his vision blurring with tears.

“Hi,” Yuuri returned, his own grin spreading.

He tipped his head forward and Victor met him, let their foreheads rest together, breathing together, needing to be close. Feel each other’s warmth, how _alive_ they both were.

Then —

“What the hell am I doing in Russia?”

Victor laughed, leant back slightly so he could wipe his eyes.

“I bought you back,” Victor explained, beaming at Yuuri, who looked bewildered. “You died. But I’ve always been able to hear the dead in certain places. One of those places is Hasetsu Ice Castle when no one else is there and the lights are out.”

“I…” Yuuri started, his brows furrowed as his eyes slid to the side, going distant as though he was trying to remember something that flirted with the edge of his memory. “I still can’t quite… but maybe…”

“You appeared to me,” Victor explained, drawing Yuuri’s gaze back to him. “Physically, unlike most of the dead I encounter. You told me that if you hadn’t died we would’ve ended up together.”

At this Yuuri’s blush returned and Victor had to fight the urge to press his lips against its warmth, see if it tasted like pink.

“You said I had to find my way back to you,” Victor went on. “And I tried. So hard. But it was only when I learnt how to love myself, not just as someone who needed you, but could get by on my own without falling apart as I’ve been doing for so long. That happened tonight. As I skated. And now here you are.”

“Here I am,” Yuuri said, sounding dazed.

Then he shivered and Victor helped him up from the ice, rubbing his arms. He wasn’t wearing skates, just a big hoodie and a pair of leggings that hugged his legs in the most distracting way. Victor swallowed.

“So,” Yuuri started, allowing Victor to help him towards the gate, slipping a little in his trainers. “How did I die?”

Victor swallowed.

“You were in a car accident,” he explained as they stepped off the ice, pausing so he could put on his skate guards. “They couldn’t find your body so they declared you missing. It seemed to… go with you, to linger between here and there.”

“There,” Yuuri repeated, again getting that look as though he was trying to remember something just out of reach.

Victor had to again fight the urge to kiss him. His pout was just too much.

“You said you’re not quite human,” Victor pressed, leading Yuuri over to a bench.

Yuuri suddenly looked shifty and nervous.

“It’s okay,” Victor assured him as they sat down, Victor tucking Yuuri’s hand against his thigh as he leant down to unlace his skates with his eyes still on Yuuri. He didn’t seem to want to stop touching or looking at him. “You said I’m not entirely human either. The whole hearing the dead thing. No idea what that makes me though.”

“Me neither,” Yuuri said, sounding distant. “My family aren’t entirely sure what we are. My father thinks we may be descended from yuki-onno, a snow spirit, but we don’t really know for sure. Sometimes we can just do some odd things with snow.”

“Huh,” Victor said thoughtfully, free of his skates now and swapping his socks into some regular ones to wear with his trainers.

He stood, drawing Yuuri with him, taking Yuuri’s other hand in his and making the man’s eyes go a little round again. Victor smiled at him.

“When it gets out that you’ve been found,” he said, smoothing his thumbs across Yuuri’s knuckles, “the police are going to have a lot of questions for you. So will the press. You’ll have to see your family. And of course you should call them right away, let them know you’re alright. But I wonder if… everyone else… could maybe wait until tomorrow? I know it’s so immensely selfish of me, but could I have you just to myself for tonight? It might even be easier to ease back into it before everyone goes crazy and you’re mobbed.”

Victor was aware he sounded a little desperate, and clamped his mouth shut.

Yuuri seemed to understand, a slow smirk unfolding across his lips, and oh god Victor was so very in love with this man.

“Why, Mr Nikiforov,” Yuuri purred, and fuck Victor was done for. “Are you suggesting that I let the good people think that I’m still missing, possibly dead, for another night when I could put them all out of their misery?”

“No…?” Victor said, unsure and a little off balance.

Yuuri stepped in close, breathed in and hummed on the exhale as he tipped his face up so his lips were a breath away from Victor’s. Victor’s heart rate was going haywire.

“Well I suppose I could…” Yuuri mused, tilting his head to the side as though he was considering it. But Victor could see the smirk. “If I had a place to stay…”

Victor grabbed him, threw him laughing over his shoulder and grabbed his skates with Yuuri helpless and beating at his back as he went weak with the giggles, still trying to protest.

Victor ignored him, bounced out to the exit with him slung over his shoulder, before he realised it wouldn’t look the best if he was spotted carrying a missing person who was struggling to get down, even with the laughter.

He placed Yuuri down, who swayed slightly as the blood rushed away from his head, and Victor steadied him, marvelling at how wonderfully familiar they were even though this was sort of the first time they’d met in Yuuri’s memory.

Victor tugged Yuuri’s hood up so he was at least slightly less conspicuous, and they headed out together.

Yuuri didn’t have his phone or a proper coat, so Victor bundled him up in his, ignoring Yuuri's protests as he also handed over his phone and told him to call his family.

But Yuuri waited until they got to Victor’s flat to do that. Luckily the reporters had cleared off to follow another story besides Victor’s retirement, and they were able to go up unnoticed.

Once inside, Yuuri stared around in apparent awe. Then he giggled.

“What?” Victor asked, helpless to the automatic reaction of smiling back as he stepped forward and helped Yuuri out of the coat that swamped him rather adorably.

“I would’ve done anything to get in your apartment before I…” Yuuri trailed off, then seemed to realise something, his face filling with horror. “Wait, how long has it been?”

“Ah,” Victor said, scratching his cheek as he wondered how to put this delicately. “Over a year?”

“A _year?!”_ Yuuri screeched, and fumbled with Victor’s phone to punch in the number for the onsen.

He hurriedly went and sunk onto the couch and Victor stood there awkwardly for a moment as he watched Yuuri wait with the phone to his ear, for his family to answer. Then Victor decided tea might help, at a loss for what else to do.

Victor took as long as possible making the tea, unsure if Yuuri wanted him there for this conversation. But when he entered the lounge area, which was basically the same room as the kitchen anyway, Yuuri made grabby hands at him, phone still held to his ear and eyes full of tears as he beamed.

Victor hurried to sit beside him, his arms automatically coming to hold Yuuri as he spoke to his family in rapid-fire, indistinguishable Japanese, sharing tears and laughter.

Yuuri was on the phone for quite a while. Apparently his family hadn’t been able to get enough of his voice, and had to tell Minako and the Nishigoris that he was there so they had to wait for them to turn up and talk to him too. Or scream in Minako’s case.

Eventually Yuuri bid them goodbye, looking relieved and happy and still wiping the tears from his face.

“All okay?” Victor asked, very aware of how close they were.

“Yes,” Yuuri agreed, beaming at him. “They agreed to keep it quiet for the night, and I’ll fly out to see them tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s…” Victor started, trying and failing to be happy that Yuuri would be able to return to his family in Japan. Leaving Victor alone again. “That’s great.”

Yuuri gave him a confused smile.

“Obviously you’re coming too,” he said with a laugh.

“Oh,” Victor said, immensely relieved as he laughed too. “Okay.”

After a few moments they fell silent and just smiled at each other. Then the smiles slowly faded, and Yuuri bit his lip.

“Victor…” he said, just this side of breathless.

“Please,” Victor whispered, leaning in. “Call me Vitya.”

“Okay… Vitya.”

And then they were kissing.

And the hole in Victor’s chest was finally completely, absolutely gone.

And it was something like coming home.

_And it was something like coming home._

**Author's Note:**

> The police questioned Yuuri and he claimed to have amnesia for the time he was missing, which was partly true. They released him and the world went pretty nuts on his return. Phichit flew to Japan to see him and managed to weasel the truth out of him.
> 
> Victor still hears the voices, but now Yuuri's there too so he's not as sad.
> 
> Come share the spookiest month of the year with me on [Tumblr](https://ewokthrowdown.tumblr.com/).


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